Kill The Messenger
by Aro
Summary: Pointlessness and a dash of Romy, I think. Socks are missing! Remy totally gets burned! Oh, my.


Disclaimer: I still don't own anything.

It's a bit boring, and slow paced. Don't criticize; I'm trying to ease my way back into writing this stuff. Yarr.

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It was a rainy, gloomy morning in Bayville, New York, and a suspicious Kitty Pryde stood in the deluxe laundry room of the Xavier mansion. Pursing her glossy lips together, she spilled out the contents of her pink plastic hamper on the table besides the dryer. After organizing her clothes into piles, she wrinkled up her nose and furrowed her perfectly manicured brow.

"This is just _ridiculous_." The brunette stated, holding up two different colored socks. On the table, besides her pile of underwear with the days of the week beautifully embroidered on them, laid three other lonely socks. A conspiracy of the sorts was in order here, and Kitty was just so sure of it. After all, socks didn't just disappear on their own, did they? "A mutant mastermind must be behind this." The teenager reasoned, dropping the said socks with a dramatic sigh.

As she turned around to check the dryer for a portal to the Lost Sock World™ a loud, familiar sound echoed throughout the spacious room, and a pair of white orbs met her brown ones. "Kitty!" Cried the blue fuzzy German mutant. "You will not believe this!"

However, Kitty wasn't listening at the moment. With her hands on set on her hips, she narrowed her eyes at him dangerously. Was he the "mutant mastermind" behind the missing pairs of her expensive, soft socks with the cute pompoms sewn into them? One hand left the jut of her hip, and she brought a finger to her chin wistfully. What would Kurt want with her _socks_? Oh. Maybe she didn't want to think about _that_.

"—And _boom_! Right in his hands!" Kurt finished; unaware that Kitty had zoned off. "Now he's in the medical wing with Hank! Unbelievable, _ja_?" He then frowned when she just continued to stare at him blankly. Also, was it his imagination or did her bottom lip curl in the slightest bit of disgust? "Are you even listening to me?" He asked, poking her in the forehead with a long, blue finger.

"Of course I—_who's_ in the medical wing?" The mystery of the stolen pairs of socks could definitely wait!

"Ah, so you weren't listening." Kurt teased with a grin. When the other mutant demanded that he tell her what happened, he arched his back and folded his arms behind his head. "Oh, I don't know…" He trailed off and let out an exaggerated sigh. "Maybe I should go tell someone who'll listen to me the first time, hmm?"

This strategy doesn't work when the person you're talking to can get you stuck in walls, ceilings, stairs… the floor. Sure, he could teleport, but that Kitty could be quite sneaky. "Kurt, tell me now!" Kitty ordered. Her demand was threateningly accented with the stomp of her foot. Gosh, she could be so overpowering, and he liked it. Sometimes.

"Gambit! He injured his hands during a round in the Danger Room." He explained, taking a cautious step backwards. "He charged up cards and they blew up in his hands!" His story was coated richly in enthusiasm and lacked any concern for the well-being of his teammate's precious hands. Careful Kurt, or it might show that you don't like Gambit.

"That's horrible! Why didn't he just throw the stupid cards?" Although it seemed logical for him to do this, Gambit was faced with the dilemma of either throwing them, thus causing a rockslide where a certain Rogue was, or clenching them in his fists and wishing himself the best of luck. It's quite obvious to see which option he went for. "How is he? I mean, how's he taking it?" She looked down at her smooth hands and briefly admired her fabulous manicured nails. "Wow, ow, that had to hurt."

Kurt shrugged. "He's Gambit, how do you think he's taking it?"

Heh.

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It was a rainy, gloomy day in Bayville, New York, and an exhausted Hank McCoy stood in the deluxe medical wing of the Xavier mansion. His flurry brow was moist with perspiration, and his top fangs gnawed into the flesh of his bottom lip as he tried to fill out a medical chart for an injured Remy LeBeau who sat on a white exam table. The words that were flowing out of his mouth could make a French sailor blush.

"My hands." The Acadian sighed after so long of gazing down longingly at his bandage wrapped hands. "My skillful, beautiful hands… no more." He was lucky that he hadn't fully charged those damn cards, but that didn't matter now. All that mattered was that his skillful, beautiful hands were out of order.

In the corner of the room stood Rogue, whose last name doesn't matter because the author says so, who was nervously tugging on the leather gloves that she wore on her poisonous hands. When Hank excused himself to get Gambit something to "relieve his pain" she stepped forward, hesitantly apologizing. Gambit's gaze lifted from his bandage-clad hands, and he looked up at her, his demon-like eyes widening like he hadn't noticed her presence.

Clearing his throat, Remy straightened up. "For what, _cherie_?" When she stared pointedly at his hands, he just said, "oh." Before he could go on to a lengthy speech on how this wasn't her fault, and there wasn't anything to worry about, Rogue began talking, and who was he to interrupt her?

"We're supposed to be teammates, and I shouldn't have tried to 'do my own thing.' I'm real sorry that you got the short end of the stick, but—"

"Rogue—" He tried to cut her off with a laugh, not wanting to hear anything of the sort.

"—I'll make it up to you."

"Okay." Hey now, who was he to disagree with _that_? Of course, "I'll make it up to you" translates to "I'll be your bitch" in Remy's mind.

Hank now wanders back in, holding a white bottle. "These are not to be taken on an empty stomach, Mr. LeBeau." He warns, extending his large hand to give the bottle to the young male, but stops, embarrassed. "Ah." He states uncomfortably, very well knowing that Gambit can't hold the bottle, or open it, or take out a small white pill, or get himself a glass of water to take with it, or…

"Don't worry, Mr. McCoy." Rogue says, taking the bottle from him. "I'll make sure he gets them." This was oddly nice and out of character for Rogue, Remy noticed, and wondered who switched her "bitchy" pills with "nice" ones. Hank must've noticed too, because he lifted his furry brow in surprise, but nodded, and thanked her for looking out for him.

_Nurse Rogue?_ Remy thought with a sly smile. It was nearly a wet dream and a half coming true—the luscious Rogue taking care of him? Perhaps this would be worth burning his delicate hands over for. Was this an early birthday present? He pondered, or a late Christmas gift?

Only time could tell this one.

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It was a rainy, gloomy afternoon in Bayville, New York, and Kitty still stood in the deluxe laundry room of the Xavier mansion, only now with Kurt, her loyal sidekick. Her flawlessly highlighted hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, and she wore a determined look on top of her blush, eye shadow, eyeliner, lip-gloss, and mascara coated face. She was ready to take action. She was ready to solve a mystery. An age-old mystery! This could take some time, patience, and some technology.

"And as you can see…" Kitty explained, shining a flashlight into the opened dryer. "There is a lack of any portals that mercilessly sucks socks into itself."

"A portal?" Kurt questioned dubiously, rolling his eyes. "You actually believed it was a portal that could be stealing your socks?"

"Kurt, as someone who's been through portals, I don't you can disagree."

"But you haven't—" Suddenly, memories of such happenings filled his innocent, still scarred mind, and he jumped slightly. "Oh."

"Now, do you have the camcorder?" Now, _this_ was the technology. With a little help, she set up the camcorder in the back of the room, disguising it in an empty Clorox bottle. Earlier she made Kurt cut out a hole so the lens could have a clear view of the events that would take place. "And now," she rubbed her hands together, "it's time for part two!"

While Kitty took wet clothes from the washer and put them in the dryer, Kurt stood the middle of the room, his back to Kitty, and made faces at the recording camcorder.

"And this load," she explained while he continued to goof off, "has three pairs of my new white socks that have an adorable cute little bow on them! Irresistible to sock predators, right?"

"Right!' Kurt wholeheartedly agreed, doing an awesome ballerina pose after trying to do a cartwheel. This boy has some skills.

"Kurt!" Kitty scolded when she turned around to see him doing the YMCA arm movements. He jumped, and his prehensile tail twitched as he turned around, bashfully smiling. "Come on, it's our night to help with dinner." Before leaving, she turned back in the direction of the incognito camcorder, clicked her tongue, and pointed at it. "And we'll be back for you."

Following her out, Kurt rolled his eyes again. "Girls are crazy."

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It was a rainy, gloomy afternoon in Bayville, New York, and an exhausted Remy sat on the couch in the living room of the Xavier mansion. He was awfully cozy, with a fluffed pillow placed carefully behind his head, and a quilt keeping his lap warm. Now all he needed was a bottle of cognac… that he'd have to drink through an orange spiral straw. He also could use a cigarette, but chooses not to push his luck—_yet_.

"Jean said we're having spaghetti for dinner." Rogue announces from the doorway of the room. She didn't sound too happy about it, and he practically heard the weird look she had on her face. "Go figure, huh, swamp rat?" The nickname rolled effortlessly off her tongue, but he didn't seem to notice.

"The next best thing would be pork fried rice… only to be eat with those damn chopsticks. And we're _Americans_, why do we even try to eat with those evil inventions?" There's a slur in his words, possibly from the pain medication Rogue had given him early. After giving him two pills, she nearly chipped his front tooth when trying to get him to take a sip from a glass of water. "And… what just _what_ is the deal with airplane peanuts?"

The French are weird.

Rogue sits down on the couch next to our delirious Cajun. "How are the hands?"

"I don't think I'll be picking locks any time soon."

"I bet our neighbors are drinking to that." Rogue admits in all truth, because it's true, and she sighs, grabbing the remote to turn on the television. "You're stupid for not throwing the cards."

"How ironic is it that they were my Lady Luck cards?" He pauses. "Hey—stupid? You should be thanking me, and kissing my feet… my skillful, beautiful… _feet_." Let it go, man, let it go. "I could've let you… let you… get squashed by those big rocks." He lifted up his arms and stared hard at his hands. "They kind of look like the ends of q-tips." He wistfully acknowledged, showing Rogue, who just nodded with her brows raised appraisingly.

"Hey Gambit." Jean walked into the room, a little kick in her step. Her lips were tugged way back, flashing off her dazzling white set of teeth. "I made you soup, since I know you might not be up to eating spaghetti." Rogue blinked, wanting to point out a flaw in her thinking pattern, but Remy cut off anything she had to say by asking Jean what kind of soup.

"Chicken noodle. I'll bring you some later, okay?"

"And don't forget a straw!" Rogue called after Jean who left immediately after she finished speaking. "I am not spoon feeding you, so don't get any ideas."

The painkillers were starting to wear off, Remy noticed; he could feel the remains of his fingernails. "It's okay, Rogue…" He trailed off pitifully. "I'll just… feed myself… or maybe Wolverine will do it. I think he's starting to like me."

"Like a cold sore." And with that, she turned on the television, immediately setting it to the TV Guide Channel. Joan Rivers was on the screen babbling to some overrated bimbo. She pressed the 'mute' button on the remote control.

After so long of comfortable silence, Remy carefully pushed himself up, and walked over to the window. Using his elbow, he pushed open the curtain and peered outside. "Wow, it's still rainy and gloomy out there."

Rogue shrugged, uninterested. "Didn't notice."

"Once it's nice out… and I'm healed, we should go out for something to eat." Remy told her, sounding like this could be any moment now.

"To where? Taco Bell?" Not that there's anything wrong with Taco Bell.

"Maybe." He looked behind his shoulder at her, and winked. However, Rogue just rolled her eyes.

"Like you could ever get me to agree to go on a date with you."

We'll see about that, Rogue. We'll see.

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It was a rainy, gloomy night in Bayville, New York, and an impatient and ever so anxious Kitty raced up the stairs, Kurt at her heels before he remembered he could teleport. He ended up disappearing in a puff of blue smoke, and reappearing in the deluxe laundry room as Kitty jogged in, phasing right through the door.

"My socks!" She called out, throwing open the dryer door. She then reached in, taking an armful of the clothes, and threw them down on the table. Her heart raced as she searched through the clothes, and finally let out an aggravated groan. "Two pairs were split up!" Wow, this was like a soap opera, only much cheesier! "Check the camcorder, Kurt!"

Kurt nodded, and did as ordered because Amanda trained him well in the whipped department. He picked up the Clorox container, tossed it against, and pressed all the necessary buttons on the camcorder to watch what it had recorder. He stood there for a while, fast forwarding through most of the footage. "Heh, I did an awesome cartwheel." He muttered, earning a glare from Kitty.

That's when his eyes widened. Without a second thought, he took out the DVD out of the camcorder, and shook his head at her. "Nothing! Nothing to see here, nothing at all!" Yeah, like that wasn't suspicious.

"Really?" Kitty asked, not seeing his reaction as suspicious at all. "But there had to be, I'm missing socks!"

"It ran out." The German explained, clearing his throat. He handed her the camcorder, and quickly excused himself. Before Kitty could even blink, he was gone. "Germans are weird." She decided, crossing her arms over her chest. The feeling that he was withholding information irked her, so she left the room and walked down the hall, towards his room, where he might be… or might not be, giving her time to snoop.

But when she phased through the door, she let out a loud gasp, "_Kurt Wagner_!" The mutant stood on his dresser, reaching up to pull down a rope that went from one side of the room to the other. The "rope" was made out of socks. Not just her socks, but also other socks. There were a lot of lonely socks in the Xavier mansion, apparently.

"I didn't realize!" Kurt apologized, interlacing his fingers together as he teleported in front of her. "I just really want to make a spiffy tight rope to practice on!

"Why _socks_?" She asked, not any less angry.

The fuzzy elf shrugged. "Why not?"

The bloodcurdling scream of a certain blue mutant ripped through the air.

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It was a rainy, gloomy night in Bayville, New York, and Rogue and Remy sat alone in the spacious kitchen of the Xavier mansion. Rogue was trying to feed Remy his soup, but the older mutant by now had grown restless and grumpy. Unfortunately for Remy, Rogue was also grumpy, and wouldn't take any shit from him.

"Eat." She ordered, waving the spoon of steaming hot noodles and broth in front of his face. "Gambit, I have no problem with you starving, but right now, you're eating this soup, and _you're going to like it_." Her green eyes shot blazing hot daggers at him. "Now, open up for the airplane."

"You're possessed, aren't you? Under some kind of mind con—" Taking advantage of Remy opening his big mouth, Rogue shoved the spoon into his mouth, earning a half-scream from Remy who jerked away, nearly falling out of his chair. "_Dat was hot, very hot!_" He snapped, pointing a finger at her; his mouth was now burnt like his hands. A noodle slipped out of his mouth and fell to its death. It was quite the symbolism.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, geesh, but try to eat, please?" Rogue knew how to play her cards right. She leaned forward, revealing a little cleavage through her sheer green shirt, and she pouted just right. Remy sighed. If Rogue's skin didn't absorb his life and energy, he'd do her right on the kitchen table. (Hands out of commission or not.)

"You're the devil." He spat at her as she filled the spoon again. This time she lightly blew on it, and Remy found this to be just hot. If only she didn't have that purple lipstick caked on her beautiful, full lips. Oh yeah, Rogue definitely knew how to play her cards. "_The devil_."

"I am not." She argued, leaning forward to grace his mouth with the warm and not burning hot soup. Albeit, her elbow crashed into the bowl of soup, and the said bowl tipped over the edge. Hot soup splashed against his lap. Remy let out a yelp, and Rogue cursed—she is the devil! "Remy, I'm so—"

"Sorry! I know!" He snapped, practically breathless. "_Merde_, you are a mean, mean girl." Hunched over, he walked out of the room, looking back at her with a glare.

Rogue sighed, picking the bowl up off the ground. Although she should feel horrible about nearing killing him twice that day, she didn't. For some reason, she just felt oddly happy! After cleaning the mess on the floor, she started towards the fridge to eat her own dinner when she heard a scream from upstairs.

Hey, it kind of sounded like her brother!

Brief pause, and then she made her way upstairs.

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It was still night in Bayville, New York, but only this time, the rain finally stopped, and it wasn't as gloomy. Rogue stood in her brother's room, next to Kitty, who had a wicked smile on her face. Kurt was tied up with what looked like rope made from socks. Rogue chose not to ask, although she was sure she spotted a few of her missing socks in the "rope."

"And tomorrow, we're going shopping, and you're buying me socks! Good ones too." Feeling a little better, Kitty left the room and went back to the deluxe laundry room because she still had a pile of clothes that needed to be folded. A woman's job is never done.

"You going to be okay?" Rogue asked, not bothering to untie her brother because as a mutant who can teleport… you know. She did, however, pat him on his head. "Oh, and, from what I gather, you're buying me a few pairs of socks tomorrow, too."

Kurt groaned, too tired to argue as she walked out of the room. He did, however, make a mental note to grind more antidepressants into her food. A happy Rogue was a happy mansion, after all!

(Offer valid for everyone but Gambit.)

About a half hour later, there was a knock at Rogue's bedroom door. She was in bed, wearing a purple t-shirt over a white long-sleeve shirt, a pair of gray sweats, and mismatched socks. She was also wearing a bathrobe. How 'bout them layers?

The person doing the knocking was Hank. If it were Remy, he would've knocked, because he currently lacks the ability to knock. "Ah, Rogue." The huge blue man sighed. "I carry a message for you from a French speaking friend of ours."

"Remy? How is he?" Hank explains that for a guy who has mangled hands and had hot soup dropped in his lap, he's fine. "He must really be pissed at me."

"Au contraire, he actually seems a little happy." Must be the medication. "He asked me to remind you of your date."

"Date?"

"Yes, he said you two have a date this weekend, and he told me to tell you to bring your sombrero." Hank chuckled, like it was a joke that he got, and left a clueless Rogue.

"_Date_?"

Yes, a date. Rogue thought about marching into the medical wing, and tearing him a new—you know—but she couldn't. How could she break the heart of a burn victim? Her burn victim. Sure, she'd go on the date with him, and maybe she'll even buy him some new socks.

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I'msosorry.


End file.
